


Dressing the Canvas

by winternacht



Series: Artist AU [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Hypothermia, M/M, Praise Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/pseuds/winternacht
Summary: A series of ficlets for my artist AU.1. Peter/Jon - So far, Elias' attempts to draw Peter have only left behind blank canvases. Jon agrees to help.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims, Peter Lukas/Jonathan Sims
Series: Artist AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606711
Comments: 16
Kudos: 107





	Dressing the Canvas

“Jon, this is Peter.“

Jon eyed the man who had entered the atelier and tried not to compare him to the image he’d conjured up in his mind when Elias had told him about Peter. A member of the Lukas family. The captain of a cargo vessel. A loner who could never resist a risky wager.

The man who stood before him now was both everything Jon had imagined and nothing like it, a puzzle he’d only seen split into its pieces. Peter was more rugged than Jon had assumed, hard lines cutting across his face, as if he’d spent decades of a rough life at sea, though his paleness jarred with that impression. But he was broad-shouldered and taller than Elias even, and he held himself like someone who was very much aware of how physically imposing they were. Smiling down at Jon in a way that made his apprehension yield to annoyance.

Jon stepped closer and held out his hand, refusing to look anywhere but directly into Peter’s eyes while greeting him.

Peter’s palm was rough and cold against Jon’s, almost startlingly so. And he held on to Jon’s hand for just a bit longer, as if he wanted to see if Jon would pull away. Jon tightened his grip, just slightly. Bracing himself for an inevitable, condescending remark.

“I see why Elias chose you,” said Peter instead, and if it was an insult, there was nothing in his tone that indicated that.

Jon opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say, surprised and mollified and suspicious all at the same time. Meanwhile, Peter ended up withdrawing his hand, the smirk returning to his face.

“But I have to say, you hardly strike me as someone who would let himself get fucked by a stranger for a piece of art.”

All Jon could do was sputter for a couple of moments, then he caught himself. “If we’re to do this, I’d appreciate some professionalism,” he said venomously.

“Nervous, hm?” Peter chuckled. “Don’t you worry, Jon. You’re in good hands. The best, in fact. Just ask Elias.”

Before he could stop himself, Jon glanced at Elias, searching his expression for a hint at how to interpret Peter’s intentions when he made such a remark. But Elias’ expression remained frustratingly neutral, showing no sign of the fond exasperation he realised he was hoping to see.

But then Elias stepped closer to Jon, lightly setting a hand on his arm, a desperately needed source of comfort Jon had to force himself not to lean into. “Why don’t we get started? Peter, if you’d like to change…” Elias gestured towards the bathroom, but Peter waved him off, taking off his heavy grey overcoat.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Jon glanced at Elias. “I’ll… get ready then,” he said, and hurried away.

In the privacy of the bathroom, he finally relaxed. A lifeline of familiarity in the rough sea of the unexpected, pleasantly warm, making him realise just how cold he’d suddenly got.

He took his time undressing and neatly folding his clothes, clinging to the safe tedium of routine. For a moment, he wondered if he should forgo the silk robe Elias always kept prepared for him. And he couldn’t help noticing that it was the only one that hung there. He had trouble imagining that Elias had simply forgotten. Most likely, he simply knew Peter that well. Or perhaps he had intended for Jon to go out without it, had Peter chosen it. He wondered how Elias would look at him if he just walked out without it, finding himself eager to know.

Then again, it wasn’t the right time to start breaking habits. Besides, he always enjoyed the look Elias gave him when he took off the robe so he could pose for him. The thought alone lit a pleasant warmth inside him. That was the right attitude to approach the situation with, he decided. He put on the robe, took a deep breath, and reached for the lube on the counter.

They had discussed everything, the necessary connection to finally commit Peter to canvas after all those unsuccessful attempts that had left behind a storage room of blank pictures. Pictures that Elias had told him weren’t empty at all. Elias’ proposal had intrigued Jon so deeply that he couldn’t help agreeing. But now…

Leaning forward, he braced a hand against the sink and started preparing himself. Not quite well-practised movements, he had to admit, but good enough for what they were planning to do.

He’d just managed to work a second finger inside himself when a knock at the door scattered his focus, and he straightened up anxiously. How long had they been waiting for him already?

“Jon, may I come in?”

For a moment, Jon considered sending Elias away. Then he quickly unlocked the door before he could change his mind again, trying to ignore the uncomfortable slickness that had spread to his thighs. Elias stepped inside, blessedly alone.

“Peter is ready,” he said.

“Good for him,” Jon muttered. Trying not to think about how ready Peter probably was.

“Have you changed your mind, Jon?” He sounded sympathetic, not disappointed or reproachful, but Jon still felt a pang at the words. He’d said he would see this through and that was what he would do now.

“I- No. I didn’t. It’s just that… I didn’t really expect this.”

“I believe he’s rather nervous himself,” Elias said. “He underestimated you.”

“Is that why he’s being such a prick?”

Elias laughed, and Jon gave him a tentative smile in response.

“Now, we probably shouldn’t keep him waiting much longer.”

“Right.”

A couple of seconds of silence passed before Jon realised that Elias had no intention of leaving again unless asked. And Jon… well, he didn’t feel like asking him to.

In the mirror, he saw Elias give him an approving little nod. Jon’s breath hitched a little as he leaned over again, reaching behind himself. It was different with Elias watching. Even when he wasn’t drawing him, his gaze was so intense on him, taking in every movement no matter how tiny, every involuntary twitch of his fingers.

Where before, the perfunctory, rhythmic movements had made him relax, he could now feel his body tighten around his digits, eliciting tiny gasps he could hardly suppress. He could feel Elias’ gaze wander down the length of his legs and up again, a gentle caress trailing over his skin, leaving scorching heat in its wake.

Jon lost himself in the sensation so deeply that he started when Elias suddenly stood behind him, close enough that Jon’s wrist brushed against his groin, hard in his slacks. One of his hands settled on Jon’s hip, the other slid across his heated chest towards his throat, tilting his chin up. Jon’s cheeks grew hotter when he saw his own face in the mirror, already flushed, eyes heavy-lidded.

“Beautiful,” Elias whispered into his ear, not taking his eyes off Jon. “Next time, I want to draw you just like this, while you get yourself ready for me. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Elias,” Jon gasped, pushing back against his own fingers, drawing his wrist down Elias’ cock with the movement. He felt Elias sigh into his hair, and the mere hint of a contented vocalisation in the sound that was enough for Jon to clench down around himself again.

Adding a third finger became a struggle. It must have shown in his face, because Elias let his hand slide between his legs, stroking across his rim. Jon’s jugular pulsed rapidly against the hand Elias had left gently curled around his throat.

“Let me, Jon,” he offered. Eagerly, Jon nodded and withdrew his fingers, surprised at how uncomfortable the feeling of his body tightening around nothing was.

Elias pulled back Jon’s hips a little, making him arch his spine so he could keep looking at their reflections. His eyes widened when Elias hiked up his robe, taking one of Jon’s hands and placing it at his hip where the soft material lay bunched up. It felt somehow more revealing than simply being nude in front of him. A reminder that they weren’t alone. A secret that could be hidden away quickly at the slightest movement of the door handle.

Jon gasped quietly when he felt Elias’s fingers circle his hole. “Relax,” he whispered against his neck, wrapping an arm around him, tightening his grip when Jon’s knees nearly buckled as Elias entered him with two fingers. So different from his own, just bigger enough that he could feel the difference in how they stretched him open. But so endlessly tender.

His movements started out slow and lenient, a gentle rhythm until Jon relaxed around him, opened up for him. But by the time Elias added a third finger, he was panting heavily.

“Very good, Jon” he said, a please smile on his lips that made Jon’s heart race faster.

Jon cried out when Elias crooked his fingers, pressing lightly against his prostate. The sound seemed to echo off the walls, reflected just like his image in the mirror.

“Do you want more?” Elias asked in a low voice.

“Yes, Elias, please,” Jon gasped, pushing his hips back against his fingers. Watching Elias smile against his neck and bite down, just as his fingers pressed harder, making Jon moan. A purple mark blossomed beneath Elias’ lips as he moved away. Jon wanted Elias to draw that, too.

But then the movement stopped. Elias withdrew his fingers, leaving Jon dazed as he tried to collect his thoughts, return to the moment.

“I think you’re ready now,” Elias said.

Jon glared at him in the mirror. “That- that wasn’t fair.” _Prick._ But his expression softened when he noticed the hint of a flush that had crept up Elias’ neck.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said while washing the lube off his hand. “But we don’t want to leave our guest waiting, do we?”

The wording thrilled Jon unexpectedly. Of course, he was technically just as much of a guest as Peter was in Elias’ house, but Elias didn’t seem to see him that way. It was a place where Jon belonged just as much as he did.

Hastily, Jon smoothed down the robe, not quite as successfully as he was hoping for, his own erection too obvious under the flimsy material. He took his time to run some cool water over his hands, hoping that it would calm him. Then he followed Elias into the atelier.

Peter was lounging on the leather seat, looking out the wide window. There was a stillness, a serenity to the scene that made Jon feel uncomfortably like an intruder. Like this large, empty space belonged to Peter alone and wasn’t meant to be seen by anyone else.

Jon hovered on the spot, trapped between curiosity and a creeping sense of guilt, when Elias lightly pushed him forward with a hand at the small of his back. “We’re ready to begin, Peter.”

“Finally,” Peter said, turning towards then. Amusement shone in his eyes. “I was getting worried that you would finish without me.”

“Knowing your habits, Peter, I suppose we will.”

“Already admitting defeat, then?”

“On the contrary.” Elias nudged Jon onwards. “I have full confidence in Jon.” A pleasant shiver ran down Jon’s spine at the words, and he stepped forward, emboldened.

“Then let’s see what we’ve got here,” Peter said, nodding towards Jon. “You don’t intend on wearing this, do you?”

Jon looked him right in the eyes as he opened the belt and took off the robe, letting it drop to the floor next to him. Taking in Peter’s expression, the widening of his smile, the once-over he gave him, lingering on Jon’s groin. It was so different from when Elias looked at him, eyes passing over his body like a gentle caress. Peter’s felt like icy waves lapping against skin, and still, Jon stepped forward, intrigued.

Peter’s hands were still just as cold as before when they settled on Jon’s hips, broad and strong, holding him in place when Jon wanted to jump into action. “What pose did you have in mind for us?” Peter called over to Elias.

Elias hummed thoughtfully, and Jon turned towards him, watching him put on his gloves. “Why don’t you stay just where you are,” he said. “And Jon…”

Elias stepped behind him, coaxing him forward, instructing him to straddle Peter’s lap, to wrap his arms around him, his fingers loosely brushing against the firm muscles of his back. Jon had nearly lowered himself onto Peter’s thighs it when one of Peter’s hands tightened around his hip, the other moving between their bodies to stroke his own cock. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“How could I?” he snapped, because it had indeed slipped his mind. Not forgotten, but suddenly, less of a priority than it had been just minutes ago. But now, it all came rushing back, and he clutched at Peter nervously. His legs twitched anxiously when he felt the head of Peter’s cock trace his entrance; a shuddering little breath left him.

Elias’ hands joined Peter's on Jon’s hips, providing a measure of stability. Though now Jon found himself wishing he didn’t insist on wearing gloves for this part. Any other day, he enjoyed the thrill of the flimsy separation between them, making him yearn for a connection even more intensely. And it was all the sweeter when Elias finally sat down and started drawing. But now his hands felt nearly as cold as Peter’s, holding him in place as Peter’s cock breached him. Peter sighed against his shoulder, rolling his hips up against Jon.

“P-Peter,” Jon gasped, struggling against the jumpy little movements of his thighs, forcing himself to relax instead as Elias and Peter slowly pulled him down on Peter’s cock. His hands scrabbled helplessly at Peter’s back as he tried to relax, overwhelmed by the fullness. Jon’s breath came in harsh bursts as he fought against his body’s refusal to adjust, clenching relentlessly around Peter

“That’s it,” Peter said contently when he was fully sheathed inside Jon, letting his hands slip down to Jon’s thighs, massaging them in soothing motions, his thumbs pressing against tense muscles.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Jon,” Elias murmured behind him, running his hands gently up his sides. Jon allowed himself to lean against Peter’s chest, relaxing just enough that he sank just a little deeper onto him. “Stay just like this.” Then he slowly stepped away.

In his haze, it took Jon a couple of seconds to realise that Elias had set up the easel on the other side of the room this time. To his back, so all he was facing was an empty wall. This now did make Jon squirm uncomfortably, the briefly alleviated tension rushing in again. He tried to crane back his neck, but Peter put a heavy hand against it, holding him in place.

“Elias told me you were so good at holding your pose. Wouldn’t want to disappoint him now, would you?”

“No, but-“

Peter thrust up into him, just once, the perfect angle to make Jon cry out, his hips rolling and wriggling helplessly in an attempt to replicate the sensation until the short burst of pleasure faded again and he sank down against Peter.

“You know, when I first entered and saw you there, such a prim and proper scrawny little thing…” Jon growled against Peter’s shoulder, earning himself another thrust that might have been a reward, might have been a punishment. He couldn’t tell anymore, his nerves sparking with conflicting sensations, the pleasant but waning heat at his back, the cold that engulfed him as he tried to scramble closer to Peter, seeking a shred of warmth that surely had to be there.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” he admitted. “Not until you truly looked at me.”

“Peter,” Jon gasped, clinging at him. He was trembling now, a layer of frost creeping up his legs. He squeezed his eyes shut. Afraid to look. Surely, that was just in his imagination.

Peter’s hands tightened around his thighs, lifting him up and off his cock with a strength that robbed his breath, tossing him down onto the seat again. The rough leather scratched at his skin as if he was lying on glass, crackling like frozen snow while Peter climbed atop him again. The ceiling above them was blindingly white, curling onto itself like wisps of fog.

“So much for holding the pose,” Jon snapped, and Peter laughed.

“Truth be told, I was never any good at it,” he said, hooking his hands below Jon’s knees to spread his thighs. Jon twitched restlessly, needing to be filled again, the emptiness creeping in at such a rapid pace. He moaned in relief when Peter fucked deep into him again.

“But I don’t think Elias knows how to appreciate you,” Peter murmured against Jon’s cheek. “Scribbling fleeting impressions onto canvas, what a waste. You deserve to be made into a statue, Jon. Caught at your loveliest, worshipped and cherished and forsaken and forgotten, while your memories and all that is you is preserved within you forever.”

Jon’s heart thumped fast in his ribcage, his thoughts clouded with the visions of what Peter was describing, fascinated and repulsed, until even those feelings slipped away from him no matter how hard he grasped at them, his fingers digging helplessly into Peter’s skin as Peter fucked him harder. The sounds around them grew quieter; even the sounds of their own moans were slowly overtaken by silence.

Jon shivered when Peter pulled out and spilled his seed over Jon’s torso, warm one second and frozen pearls on his skin the next. Peter’s lips moved, but there were no words for Jon to hear. With a smile, Peter leaned over, grazing the side of Jon’s neck with his teeth. A pulsing ache burned through Jon, curling deep inside his chest, spreading to his fingertips.

“Peter,” he croaked. Peter’s lips stilled against his skin. “Why are you afraid of being remembered?”

Peter sat up. Something in his expression had frozen like ice. But then he laughed, and Jon couldn’t tell if it was forced or genuine delight.

“That, Jon, is a question you haven’t earned an answer to yet.” He patted Jon’s cheek. “Don’t look so disappointed. There’s something else I can give you instead.”

His fist closed around Jon’s cock, firm and unexpectedly warm. The fog around them dissipated, so slowly, and then he could feel it again, the heat of Elias’ gaze, greedy and devouring and a balm against the dread that had layered itself over him.

Jon’s cock jerked inside Peter’s fist, his back arching off the soft leather as he chased more of his touch, and found his release.

His breathing still hadn’t calmed when Elias came to sit next to him, running a hand over Jon’s hair. Peter’s grip remained loose around him, just tight enough that he could feel the callouses on his palm sliding across oversensitive flesh with tiny motions.

“Don’t look so bloody pleased with yourself,” Peter growled at Elias, his fist tightening just enough to make Jon’s hips jump.

“Allow me to indulge myself, for once.” He reached for Peter’s wrist, gently pulling his hand off Jon’s cock. Raising it to his lips to kiss away Jon’s come, his eyes fluttering shut. Jon’s cheeks heated as he beheld the scene, the delicate movement of Elias’ lips. Peter’s expression still looked rather sour, but he didn’t pull away.

“You did such wonderful work,” Elias said when he opened his eyes again and found Jon’s. His palm moved to Jon’s cheek, hovering so lightly above it that Jon couldn’t help but nuzzle into the touch.

“That, he did,” Peter said, giving Jon’s thigh a playful squeeze. “But do let me know when you have enough of drawings.”

Later, Jon lay draped across Elias’ chest, curled up in his embrace, lulled into a pleasant daze as Elias continued to stroke his hair. Elias had shown him the drawing, afterwards. The lines seemed oddly faded, compared to his previous pieces. But they were still visible, Jon and Peter entwined so deeply. A secret whispered onto a canvas.

He wondered if Peter would agree to another drawing, but somehow, he doubted it. The thought stuck in Jon’s chest like a shard of ice, deep and forever cold. It ached.

“Peter said he wanted to make me into a statue,” Jon murmured against Elias’ skin. “Cherished and forgotten.”

“Did he, now,” Elias said. His hand trailed down Jon’s spine, warm and possessive. Or Jon liked to imagine it was as he pressed himself closer to Elias. “But I’m afraid he wouldn’t succeed. Because I will never forget you.”

Jon pushed himself up, looking at Elias’ face, his expression gentle yet serious. He leaned down to kiss Elias, a touch of lips as fragile as spun glass, threatening to shudder apart at any moment.


End file.
